Dean and Sherlock's plan
by glanmire
Summary: it's season five, lucifer is trying to get in either Sam or Sherlock's head, and this is how they fight back.
1. Chapter 1

A MAN

He slowly became aware that he was walking barefoot on a dusty road. The soles of his feet burned at the heat. "John?" he called out instinctively, his voice cracked and hoarse. Before anything else could register, headlights bared down on him, blinding him, and he blacked out all over again.

DEAN WINCHESTER

"Thanks for coming Cas, I just wanted some expert advice on this one."

"Dean I am not extremely knowledgable on the subject of unconscious human men."

"I know, it was a joke, lighten up a little. Can you, I dunno, at least tell when he's gonna wake up? Should I dunk some water over his head or something?"

"My estimation is that he will awaken in about fifteen seconds. Water will be unnecessary."

"And how did you - you don't read minds, do you?"

"Would you be worried that I would judge your thoughts, or is it the lack of privacy that would bother you?"

"Neither, I mean both, no just - just stay out of my head Cas!"

...

"Hey waddya know, he's waking up. You were right man."

"I must go. Bring him up to date while I am gone."

"Wait, where did you- goddamit Cas!"

THE MAN

He awoke to cold water being brutally poured on his face. The reasonable sounding man had evidently lost that particular debate. He opened his eyes slowly, wary of the possibility of more water.

"Would anyone care to fill me in?", he asked immediately, well aware he could pass out again at any moment, "because if this is the afterlife, I'm frankly a little disappointed." He was a little surprised at the tone he was employing. He didn't sound like a very agreeable person.

"What do you mean, afterlife? You're not - shit, are you dead?"

"Yes, well I was for a while at least", he managed, and with that passed out again.

When he came to moments later, properly this time, he realised he was lying on the same road, and must have fallen and most likely these were the men from behind the headlights.

"You okay man?" said the man leaning over him. American. He had a gun, hadn't stopped to shave and was one of the voices from earlier.

"Yes, I must be. I'm sorry", he said, calmer this time. He pushed himself into a more upright, dignified position.

"Woah take it easy there", said another man who was taller, with longer hair, who he hadn't heard before. "You just blacked out, give yourself a minute."

He nodded. It was sensible advice.

The first man looked at him with suspicion. "What happened to you anyway? I was two seconds off smearing you all over my bumper."

"I don't know, I can't remember anything - sorry I know that must sound like an excuse, but I haven't been drinking."

"No it's alright, we believe you", the tall man said sincerely. "Why don't you get in the car and we'll give you a ride to the nearest town at least?"

The man considered this. It was evident from their attire, weaponry and hands that the men were dangerous, and fleeing would only enrage them. If they wished for him to get in the car, it was best in his best interests not to disagree.

He stood up and clambered into the backseat, abashed by his bare feet and dishevelled attire. The smaller man glanced at him and muttered, "Try not to touch anything", under his breath, then got in driver's side. The tall man took shotgun without protest. Fascinating dynamic.

"So, do you at least know your name?" the tall man asked conversationally as the car rolled into motion.

The question caught him momentarily. "I said John a few moments ago, though in a manner which suggests I was calling out to someone called John, rather than referring to myself."

The brothers exchanged a look that was easily read as what-a-pompous-git. He paid little heed.

"Well John-"

"Sherlock!" he interrupted with sudden zeal, "I believe my name is Sherlock."

The first man snorted. "I bet you get all the ladies with a name like that, Sherly. I'm Dean, and this is my brother Sam."

Sherlock nodded. Dean and Sam. Con-artists, guns for hire, something quite like that.

"So you said you think you're dead?" Dean asked him.

"Yes, I was falling, I remember it quite viscerally."

Sam arched a brow. "Falling? Did you jump, or..?"

"No." Sherlock was certain he didn't. He knew next to nothing about himself, but he knew he wouldn't jump, he had better control than that, surely.

"Fine, whatever you say." Sam said in a manner that suggested the opposite. "We'll have to do some simple tests so, if you don't mind."

"What gives you the authority? What would you know about this?"

For some reason that made the both of them bark out laughs.

"If anyone is the authority in freaky shit like this, it's us."

SHERLOCK

The brothers were called the Winchesters, he found out soon enough, and they were very thorough.

Dean prodded him repetitively, an iron fork in his right hand and a silver one in his left. "Sure you don't feel this?" he asked, a little vindictively. He really had been aggravated by the possibility that Sherlock would dirty his car.

"No." Sherlock muttered back, teeth clenched, trying not to bait him.

Dean persisted with the forks, grinning like a madman.

Sam was more scientific, giving Sherlock a shot of holy water to drink, and then asking him to eat a nugget of salt, frowning at the lack of reaction.

Their examinations were primarily based on folklore and conventional wisdom, and it was exasperating, for all Sam's attempts at order.

"Thank you for your help, but may I go now? There's someone I need to call, I'm certain of it, and this tests of yours seem futile." he eventually asked.

The brothers exchanged a look. "No can do Sherly, not yet anyway, at least 'til we work out what's going on here." Dean said in a kinder tone than he'd been using.

Sam looked unhappy but conceded with his brother's opinion.

"Look, you've nowhere to go until you start remembering stuff so you might as well stick with us for a bit. And there's no way you're getting back to what, England? until someone sends you over some money, so you better start thinking up names snappy."

There was no logical argument to counter with, so Sherlock let it go for the while.

"Do you remember anything else?" Sam inquired, trying to be nice about it.

"Yes." Sherlock had to admit, "It sounds ridiculous though - probably a hallucination - but I remember a man asking me permission for something, I can't remember what. He was quite persistent and he had sores on his face."

The brothers looked at each other and it was blatantly obvious that he had said something alarming.

"Did this uh, guy, say who he was? Catch a name?"

"No", but the lie lay heavy in the air and the Winchesters didn't look like they were going to buy it.

Sherlock sighed. "Fine, he said he was Lucifer, but obviously, it was just a fever-induced dream brought on by-"

"Shut up and lemme think!" Dean yelled, suddenly furious, and twisted the wheel sharply so that they were pulling over, the car juddering up onto the embankment.

Sherlock decided quickly that it was in fact in his best interests to stay quiet and not aggravate the American further. Sam glanced at him apologetically and turned to Dean.

"What do we do now? Is he a vessel too, or..?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know? I'm calling Cas, that's what."

Cas appeared outside the car a few moments later, and looked around, squinting into the distance.

[ Dean had given him enough information by then, albeit laconically, so that Sherlock was not taken aback by the sight of a trench-coated man appearing from thin air.

The brothers were hunters who killed (or as Dean phrased it, "ganked") supernatural entities such as ghosts and vampires for a living.

A few months ago, they inadvertently started the apocalypse, and now angelic and demonic forces were trying to coerce them into becoming vessels, (or "meat suits").

Michael the archangel would take over Dean, his fallen brother Lucifer would take Sam, and then they would fight to the death.

Castiel was an angel that was on the boy's side, and they all basically tried to avoid other angels and demons, stop the apocalypse and not end up as vessels. The summation of events was very angsty yet enthralling; Sherlock wanted to know more but the brothers were not the type to say more than was needed. ]

"Why can't he see us?" Sherlock asked, despite his attempt at staying quiet. Dean seemed to have calmed by now though.

"Sigils. Very handy for hiding us from all kinds of crap. Ruin the paintwork of my car though."

"Are they carved?"

"No actually, done in chalk. I was not having anything irreversible done to my baby"

Dean made a face, as if the very idea affronts him.

Sherlock wondered what kind of man calls his brother Sammy, his car baby and yet could be so murderous. He found he didn't want to know.

Cas, who was still outside the car and facing the wrong direction, called out, "Dean, we don't have time for this." He did not seem amused.

Dean snorted and kept his eyes fixed on Cas.

Cas clenched his fists and suddenly the sky was dark and it was hail-stoning, big fat rock-like ones, buckets of them bouncing off the roof of the car, scratching against the precious paint-work. It was deafening, and Dean shouted out the window nearly instantaneously, "Cas! Over here, buddy!"

Cas frowned, the hailstones stopped, and he appeared in the backseat looking pissed.

"Was I supposed to derive humour from that experience, Dean?"

Now that he could hear him properly, Sherlock realised the angel's voice was not what he expected; it was rough and gruff like a weary bleary-eyed chain-smoker's hangover-laden growl and in no way angelic.

Dean stifled what could only be called giggles, and even Sherlock found himself faintly amused by the expression this sonorous-sounding angel was wearing.

"Geez man, it's the end of the world, I thought we could do with a laugh, lighten up."

DEAN

Cas didn't deign to reply but instead turned to Sam, who had been oddly silent for the whole escapade.

"How are you feeling, Sam?", and it was such a non sequitur that Dean barked a laugh again.

"Since when do you make small talk Cas?"

Everyone ignored that statement and Sam shrugged.

"Not too great I suppose. I've got this kind of headache, it's Lucifer I'd say, but it's no big deal."

Cas nodded briskly. "Keep me informed."

"I'm wonderful Cas, thanks for asking."

The angel glared at him, and didn't say anything. Dean was used to it - well not so much used to it, it wasn't something he'd ever be accustomed to- but the look still unnerved him a little bit at that intensity.

He coughed and said, "Well, have you met Sherlock?"

"Not while he was lucid, no." Cas turned to the Englishman, who had kept up surprisingly well with what had been going on, and said quite solemnly, "By now Dean has presumably made you aware that you are Lucifer's next intended vessel. You must say no."

Sherlock arched a brow and said, "Oh really? I thought I was meant to assist the devil? You mean to say you intend to scupper his plans? Oh dear."

His voice was thick with sarcasm, but Dean worried that Cas wouldn't catch it - for such a snarky man, he could be oblivious.

Cas furrowed his brow but said nothing back.

"Well I for one am getting outta here, it's too damn hot," Dean announced just to break the silence, and he opened his door and plonked himself down on the ground beside the car.

SHERLOCK

Sherlock pressed his fingers to his temples.

It was scalding outside, and the air tasted like dirt and sweat. The angel had gone ahead to search the town, Night Vale, and seemingly there were demons everywhere.

The Winchesters had made the tactical decision to abandon the case they had planned on investigating and instead drive right back the way they had come. The whole group had been unanimous in this assessment.

So now they were pulled over on the side of the road.

Sherlock had expected them to drive right through the night but he quickly learned Dean was quite particular about his car, and seemingly this would be his third night without sleep if they didn't stop.

Cas didn't know how to drive, and it wasn't stated out loud, but evidently Sam wasn't trusted to drive what with his 'LDP' as Dean had christened it, or 'the Little Devil Problem'.

Sherlock had experienced no cognitive issues himself, though he couldn't speak for Sam, but Dean was insistent. They were pulling over.

DEAN

"A cigarette would be much appreciated, if anyone has one." Sherlock asked.

Sam shrugged, and Dean felt wistful, but it was Cas sheepishly who pulled out a packet from deep inside the trench coat.

"Cas?" Dean asked, pushing himself off the Impala's bonnet, the metal hot under his palms, "Since when are you a smoker?"

"I wished to try the human experience. It was painful and without merit. I kept the rest of the packet however, with all the rest of my possessions."

Dean hated the word possession, regardless of the context, but it wasn't the time.

"So ehh, what else you got in that portable treasure trove then?"

Dean figured that Cas would be pathological about privacy, so it was a surprise when the angel sighed and began to empty his pockets. He had toothpicks, receipts, keys and napkins. Most of it was worthless.

"Hey- does this - is this a key to my car?"

Cas simply stared at him.

"That's cool, I guess. Could've mentioned it earlier though. Wait- lemme see that- Cas, that's my amulet."

"Yes. I retrieved it from the trash can. It seemed like the right thing to do."

Dean looked at the pile useless things that Cas had held onto and he thought he understood.

"You keep it man."

Sherlock cleared his throat obnoxiously, and Dean jerked back and handed the cigarette to him.

SAM

Sam ignored them all. At this proximity, he could feel the devil, like a gentle probing, calling out for him.

He couldn't describe it other than black oil dripping into clean clear water, shooting out dark tendrils with every drop. Even if no more oil got in, that water would never be truly clean again.

He felt thirsty just thinking like that, and his throat was dry. The desert, of all the shitty places he had spent a night in, was ranking in the top fifteen and that was saying something.

He watched Sherlock light up in a pretty distant way, like there was glass between the others and him. It actually felt like a dream, when you know it's not quite right but you can't wake up either and Sam just wanted to wake up already, because he was pretty damn fed up of this.

But this was real. This was his life, watching a stranger smoke and his brother talk to his angel, and sit there himself quietly, waiting and waiting until he caved to the voice in his head and said yes.

But for a while at least it was pretty quiet, the voice only a murmur, and the little light of the cigarette tip pretty much the only thing shining in the desert.

Dean and Cas were sharing the car's hood, Sam sat with his back propped against the car, eyes screwed shut, and Sherlock was sprawled out on the sand.

They said nothing, and the strange unseen wildlife of the desert hummed around them contentedly.

DEAN

The whole point of pulling over was so that he could sleep, but Dean found out pretty fast it was one of those nights where you're so drained that your brain just won't unwind.

He'd toss the ring up and down, and it would glint and spin, and he'd catch it in his hand again like the golden snitch, a soft rhythm.

No, more like the One Ring than a snitch. He'd be Aragorn then, naturally. Cas would be Legolas, with his oddness and staring. Bobby was a perfect Gimli, and Sam would be Gandalf, towering over everyone with all his fancy schooling-

"What is that?" Cas asked, interrupting Dean's daydream, or more of a mind rambling than anything else.

"Oh what this? It's um, War's ring, that I cut off him, y'know? I wasn't sure what to do with it. I was gonna put it on a necklace or something but..."

"But you threw away the amulet your brother gave you which would have been suitable when you realised God wasn't interested in helping you. You may have it back, if you would prefer that?"

"Nah, it's fine man, you can have it. Hey, you're very blunt, you know that Cas?"

Cas looked at him and said, completely seriously, "Honesty is the best policy."

Dean couldn't help but laugh at that one.

"So get this," says Sam eventually, rupturing the comfortable silence.

Cas had fallen asleep on the hood of the impala. Dean didn't want to wake him. Probably the first time Jimmy's body got a rest in a hellva long time. Let him sleep.

"What is it Sammy?"

Sherlock lay perfectly still, but it was evident he was listening intently too.

"Okay, remember the guy Lucifer was holding up in?"

"His meat suit?"

"Yeah yeah, well you know the way it was kinda.."

Sam waved his hands about and made a frowny face to ineffectively illustrate his point.

"Sure, it was falling apart."

"Uh-huh, so anyways I was wondering if maybe Sherlock, is like, a replacement vessel. Until he gets me to say yes. Which won't happen. But if he's burning through the first guy and I'm still saying no.."

Dean finished it for him. "Then he's gotta find himself a new home."

"I'm not for let." Sherlock stated and Dean wondered if that was what passed for a joke, coming from him. He and Cas would probably get on great, given the opportunity.

SHERLOCK

By that night, Sherlock had weighed up all three men.

Cas was honest and knew how to handle himself, but although initially he looked to be the leader of the group, Sherlock soon realised that he relied on Dean for orders.

He decided against Sam on the grounds that they were too connected in all this. Sherlock needed to strike against Lucifer, but anything he did would make Sam feel guilty he hadn't done it himself. That would distort his judgement, and Sherlock couldn't afford an ally that could not act rationally. He wanted this done cleanly, and fast, so he could go home and leave this unsavoury business behind him.

So that left Dean. Wisecracking, alcoholic, lethal Dean.

"Dean."

Sherlock knew he wasn't asleep. Dean's natural position was tense, ready, but Sherlock knew that even soldier's shoulders loosened when they slept. But Dean was lying down in way that looked like he was ready to murder someone, anyone, without bothering to open his eyes.

"I know you're awake."

"So?"

"Dean, we are not going to defeat Lucifer in a clean fight. Sacrifices are going to have to be made."

Dean finally opened his eyes at that. Sherlock wondered what the trigger word was.

[we- inclusion, trust. possible issues there.

defeat- lack of hope, maybe he feels he can never truly defeat anything.

lucifer- well obviously that's a sensitive subject.

fight- gut instinct to even the mention the word.

sacrifices- definite possibility, considering the relationship between the brothers.]

Or maybe it was just that Dean had been in charge for too long, and it was a relief to have someone else calling the shots for once. It was very hard to read the hunter.

"Well Sherly, what is it you're prepared to do?"

"What ever I must."

Dean eyed him wearily.

"I need to know everything, Dean."

"What you don't know could - has, actually- filled several books."

"I'm sure you can cut it down, and I assure you, I can keep up."

"Right, fine. So Lucifer was an archangel.."

DEAN

They talked for some time, and Dean quickly learnt that Sherlock was sharper than he'd given him credit for. They had the bare bones of a plan within minutes.

"For this to work, I'll have to say yes to Lucifer." Sherlock retorted.

"We could just wipe the car, he'd be here in moments."

"While that would attract Lucifer, it would also put Sam at risk, and we have to protect him, if this 'true vessel' story is true."

"It is. So we need to make it look like an accident. And how do you suppose we do that?"

"Wipe the sigils on the pretext of giving Castiel a lift."

"And how are we gonna swing that, huh? Only reason he'd take a lift is if he were injured and knocked out and we're not going there."

"My job is to foil plans, not to think them up. I think anyway, that's what I did. Foil plans. Something like that."

"Save it for later Sherly. Sam's way too smart to fall for any of this anyway."

"Your brother is on the brink of being coerced by Lucifer into saying yes. He's not at the top of his game."

Dean gave Sherlock a sharp look.

"Fine, so we get Sam out of the way, then we wipe the car. Cas is gonna have to be in on it too or we're not going ahead with this."

"That does sounds like the only viable option."

SAM

When he woke up to whispers, he thought they were in his head until he saw that Dean and Sherlock were deep in discussion. That was unexpected, but a relief.

It also meant that Sam was left to babysit the angel. Great.

He'd never really talked to Cas casually, when there was no emergency, and there didn't seem to be much to talk about. The angel stared off into the distance patiently. Sam thought he'd have bailed by now.

"Hey, uh Cas?". He felt foolish, but it was a little late for that. "I, um, have a massive headache from the whole, y'know.."

"Is it stemming from Lucifer trying to use you as a vessel?"

"Yeah, that. You can't use some angel-mojo and uhh.." He felt really guilty now, but Cas turned and looked at him directly.

"Of course Sam. I should have known you would be experiencing discomfort." and he lay his broad hands across Sam's forehead.

Sam suppressed a yelp and tried not to look quite so scared. This was the exact position Cas took when he was smiting demons, and Sam tried not to picture his own eyes burning up and - no, never mind, Cas wouldn't hurt him, Dean trusted him after all.

Deep breaths.

Cas looked at him oddly, and Sam remembered that he could read minds. Probably.

It had never really come up, and Sam preferred not to know.

DEAN

Sherlock and Dean walked back to camp. Neither looked particularly happy. Dean made his way over to where Sam and Cas were sitting.

"Cas, can I, uh, talk to you for a moment?"

Sam smirked and Dean ignored him furiously.

"Certainly Dean", and they were a hundred feet away. "Better?" Cas asked. Show off.

Dean cut to the chase. "Right, okay, do you trust me Cas?"

Cas stared at him more intensely than usual, but Dean didn't look away. Finally Cas spoke, and said the words like a vow. "I do."

Dean still couldn't drag his eyes away. "Yeah, that's good, okay, so listen. Me and Sherlock have got something worked out, and I need you to go along with it. So just, do as I say, alright?"

Cas' face was blank as he said, "Yes Dean."

"We're gonna go back to Sam now, and then you're gonna take him to Bobby's and lock him in the safe room."

There was a question in Cas' eyes but he didn't ask it. Dean was grateful.

Then they were by the car again, disorientatingly.

"Everything okay?" Sam asked, clearly feeling excluded. They were like gossiping teenagers, except there were lives at stake, not reputations.

Dean looked at the ground. It was sandy-gold and perfectly uninteresting. "Just tryna figure all this out, you know? But never mind that, how are you holding up?"

"Sure, fine." Sam smiled, but it was a little forced. Dean didn't push it. He looked back at the ground. He was always terrible at lying to Sammy.

"Well? Is there a plan?" Sam asked him.

Dean grimaced a little.

"See the thing is, Sherlock over there is a liability. Because of him Lucifer is like, doubly drawn to us. If you say yes, that's catastrophic 'cause you're his true vessel and all that crap. But if we lose Sherlock, Lucifer just gets a new skin suit. It'd be bad, but we'd manage."

Sam looked at Dean, and he could tell his brother was disappointed in him. "You wanna abandon him? Well what do you think Cas?"

Castiel fidgeted but said "I agree with Dean. The risks outweigh the benefits."

Sam shook his head. "We can't leave him for Lucifer, that's as good as murder."

Dean glanced at Cas and quickly said, "Nah, Cas'll carve the shit on his ribs like he did with us. Lucifer won't be able to find him. By splitting, we're actually giving him a better chance. We've all got prices on our heads. At least his face is a little less known. He'd better off without us."

Sam said nothing so Dean went on. "I need you to research the guy, see who he is, so we can contact his family, get him back home."

"I know, I would've done it already, but the wifi is down, that's never happened to me before."

Probably cause Dean had got Cas to tap the laptop with a bit of extra energy. He was surprised it still turned on at all.

"Yeah, so look Cas can take you somewhere where you can do that- I was thinking Bobby's maybe, make the guy feel included, you know?"

Cas nodded a little too fast, trying to indicate his approval. He was useless at times like this.

Dean knew they weren't playing this as smoothly as they should, but there wasn't time. If he had to, he would get Cas to zap Sam to Bobby's with or without Sam's permission. He'd prefer if he agreed to it though. It'd feel less like betrayal that way.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I don't know- is this town kind of funky do you think?" 'Funky town' was one of their old codes, meaning 'I've got a gun to my head'. Sam was asking him was he being put up to this, and in a way that Cas wouldn't understand. Dean didn't know how he felt about that.

"No man, it's good here. See you back at Bobby's in a few hours so?"

"Yeah sure Dean."

If this went pear-shaped, he'd probably be dead within the hour, or see Sherlock as Lucifer. No need to worry Sam about that though. He gave Cas a nod, Cas touched Sam's head and they were gone.

Sherlock walked over. "All done?"

"Yes. Call him."

Sherlock closed his eyes and thought /yes/

CASTIEL

Cas brought Sam to Bobby's. They appeared in the panic room. Cas wasn't sure what Dean expected him to do after that, so he just left go of Sam and reappeared outside the door, and shut it with a wave of his hand. It clanged to a close in a suitably dramatic manner.

"Cas! Hey, what are you doing!"

This would have been easier if he just had to smite somebody, but no, he was expected to convince Sam, to assure him. That was not his area of expertise.

He did like how it was all like bookends though. He had opened the door to let Sam start the apocalypse, and now he was closing it to stop it. He didn't think Sam Winchester appreciated the symmetry however.

Sam banged on the door with both fists.

"Cas man, c'mon, let me out! Dean put you up to this, didn't he? My brother's not always right you know!"

Cas looked at Sam through the eye grate.

"I am truly sorry Sam", and he meant it. Out of seven billion humans, Cas only had an emotional connection with two. If Sam did not want to be his friend anymore, that brought it down to 0.00000000014286% of the human race, or namely, just Dean Winchester. That was not a very reassuring figure. He should branch out more. Figuratively speaking, that was. Castiel didn't have any real branches to spread.

"Cas!" Sam yelled. Cas disappeared before another Winchester could make him feel conflicted. He didn't like it very much when they did that.

SHERLOCK

Cas appeared again, minus Sam, and they all waited.

It was quiet by the time Lucifer came to him, wearing John's body.

John, the first name on his lips when he came back to life, John Watson. He remembered now. He remembered he'd had to kill himself to save this man, his friend. He remembered why he valued this man's life more than his own.

And it was brutal to remember, and not run to the man in front of him, because it looked like John, so much so that Sherlock was taken aback for a second, but it was the devil, just fucking with his head.

The differences were apparent immediately, once he looked for them; the head was tilted too far, the chin lifted up too high. He found he didn't want to see the differences though, he didn't want to fight the devil, he just wanted to be back at Baker Street, but this was the way it was and there was no good in wishing otherwise.

"Sherlock," Lucifer said softly, "Moriarty made you do this, he destroyed everything, but you can get it all back, the flat, the cases, us. It'll be like you were never gone. It'll be like it always was. Just say yes, will you Sherlock? For me?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. It was the devil with John's voice but the voice was good and kind and firm and he said, "Yes."

The response was instantaneous and fierce. It flooded him. It was compassion and acceptance shooting through his nerve endings like heroin, like mugs of tea and the way Molly Hooper parted her hair, John's straight backed walk and the flat door swinging open to reveal London yawning across his veins, running through the streets, draped sheets and stolen ashtrays, Lestrade on the phone and Mrs Hudson at home, and Sherlock' senses were on fire his heart was pumping burning blood and -

it pounded like a knife against the chopping board, and lovely warm images engulfed him, and a voice told him to sleep now, to lay his weary head to rest.

he was so very tired-

No.

He found himself saying, "Dean" groggily, like he was submerged.

Lucifer was trying to take hold, but Sherlock was better than that. Fight. Fight goddamn it.

And Sherlock opened up his mind palace, all those rooms of information, facts, statistics, and he let the devil come in, swarm the building. And Sherlock looked at the palace, and in his mind's eye he burned it. That ought to keep Lucifer busy for a few moments at least, a brief reprieve.

"I have him under my control for now but I can't say for how long. Act quickly."

Dean didn't wait any longer. He began to pour the liquid on the ground. It gulged out of the bottle and pooled at Sherlock's feet.

Sherlock reached into his pocket and called John, knowing the number now. It had been there all along.

"I don't see the purpose in trapping Lucifer in angel fire." Cas said to Dean.

"We're not trapping him. You guys die when you cross that stuff, right?"

"Yes but I fail to see-"

The phone was still ringing. It went to voicemail.

"John Watson." the voice said simply.

Sherlock hung up. There was no point leaving a message. There was nothing he could possibly say, no way of explaining this.

"I'm ready Dean."

Dean lighted the cheap lighter and threw it down and the angel fire whooshed to life around Sherlock, a fiery halo on the floor.

Sherlock could still feel Lucifer, screaming at the sides of his mind, trying to escape the labyrinth Sherlock had been creating his entire life, but he had control yet.

I will burn the heart out of you, someone had said to him once, and now it was time to burn the devil, fight fire with holy flames, and kill Lucifer. He stepped across the line of fire, fully aware, fully conscious, screaming.

DEAN

Cas watched the whole thing but Dean couldn't. He had seen enough people burning alive for a lifetime.

So Dean tried to ignore the screams and focused on Cas instead. His face was lit by the glow of the flames, highlighting and casting shadows, and Dean was reminded that yes, this was an Angel of The Lord, and right now he looked like an apathetic god, watching his people burn. There was a terrifying look in his eyes.

Dean tried to pretend that they were at a bonfire or somewhere candlelit, anywhere but here.

Cas didn't look away from Sherlock once. The screams cut off eventually, but Dean didn't look at the charred heap until Cas blinked and said it was over.

The phone rings later.

"Hello, John Watson here."

Dean answered it. It was the least he could do.

"Sorry wrong number-" and he couldn't help but add, "you look out for yourself man." It had been Sherlock's last and only call. Must've been important.

The man hung up. Dean didn't blame him.

They drove away a while later, leaving the last of the smoke to drift into the desert sky. Dean pretended that it was a hunter's funeral, where they a,ways burn the bodies, that they had just left, and in a way it was. Sherlock had only had one case, and he killed the devil on it. In other words, he was the greatest hunter Dean had ever met.

Cas explained some stuff to Dean as they drove, who was so exhausted he could only pay half attention to the words.

Vessels were a bit like tuning into a radio station, he said, and everyone else plays static except Sam. Sam's station would play Lucifer's song, pitch perfect. but he just needed to tune him a little first. That's why he hadn't forced him to say yes the day he came to Earth. That's why there was all those headaches, all those mood-swings, the cravings for demon blood, all that crap. And well all that tuning, meddling, that might take a while to recover from.

It also explained why the first vessel hadn't lasted too well, and why the devil was so vulnerable in Sherlock's, because they were close, but not the exact right station.

Dean thought of angel radio and a girl that used to be Anna Milton and said nothing.

He kept driving. Cas didn't disappear.

Cas lightly touched Dean's hand, and this nebulous pain in his neck drifted away and he breathed in deeply.

"Hey man thanks, you didn't have to do that."

Cas said nothing, but he left his hand on Dean's. It was warm and pleasant and Dean found he didn't mind, and that he'd much rather drive one handed than take it away, and so they drove away like that, and the whole horrible day, year, seemed to fall away into the sand waste, and the car felt lighter, somehow.


	2. Outtakes

"Relax sweetcakes, me and my brother here we have ribs that are hiding us, okay? And the car has enochian shit that stops angels coming in too. We've got the windows lined with salt. This here is the safest place you could be." Dean drawled, assuringly confident.

"Then how is he here?"

Dean looked at Sherlock uncomprehendingly for a full three seconds then swore.  
"Sam- get the Colt. Cas, we need new sigils up and running, asap."

"Dean?"

"I was giving Cas a ride a few days ago so I wiped off the sigils and I never put them back up."

"Dean, that was unwise," Cas said sternly.

"I didn't see you complaining!"

"I presumed the sigils were no longer effective due to my decreasing connection to heaven."

The ensuing silence is broken by a flurry of movements; sharpies squeaking out sigils, Dean rechecking the salt line furiously, and Sherlock's blatant disapproval, which seems to have its own snarling presence in the car.

They shot Sherlock point blank and he got back up again.  
Colt didn't do jack shit these days.

"Your weapon is functioning Dean, but heaven will keep resurrecting me. It's a futile, albeit cathartic exercise."

"You plan on saying yes if they keep threatening to torture John?"

"Always"

"Fine then," and Dean turned and shot John in the face.

"Agents Smith and Jones, it's a pleasure. Please, call me Carlos."

"Well, erm, Carlos, can you fill us in on what's happening here?"

The scientist ran his hands through his long dark hair. It was extraordinary, considering his line of work, that it wasn't under a hair net.

"I'm not qualified for this at all. I've got degrees in physics and chemistry, but I'm no doctor. The people here though, they call me Carlos the Scientist and expect me to have all the answers. So, okay, I'm no expert on cadavers, but.."

"It's okay, just tell us what happened."

Dean spoke to Cas on the phone a while later.  
"Okay so it's definitely a demon job. And you say Cecil is a prophet? Explains how he knows so much. Yeah, you go check that out and-"

Dean stops, because Carlos has grabbed a needle and is holding it to Sam's neck.

"Look, I don't know what you want, but leave Cecil out of it, okay? I'm sick of people from vague yet threatening government agency pulling this crap.  
Now you tell your buddy to leave Cecil alone, or I inject your partner."

Dean looks at Sam, who looks as bewildered as he feels, and then speaks into the phone.  
"Cas, did you get that?"

"Of course Dean. Can you handle it or-"

"No now Cas"

And he hangs up and looks pointedly at Carlos, who immediately drops the needle.

"I'm sorry man. It was only water anyway, I just, I mean, not Cecil"

Sam expects Dean to be pissed, but he goes to Carlos instead and slaps a hand on his back.

"It's all good man. No harm done. We all get a little... protective at times."

Weird, Sam thinks. Very weird.

"Cas?"

"Yes Dean?"

"Will you pick up this guy, he's from 221B Baker Street, England. Name 's John Watson."

Silence at the the other end of the line. Sherlock wonders how they propose to 'get' John, when he's in the UK and they're clearly somewhere in America.

"He shouldn't be taking this long" Dean mutters.

And then there's no way to explain it other than that two men simply appear in the car, filling vacant space.  
The first man wears a tan trench coat. He holds a burger and a salad under one arm.

"I'm sorry I was delayed, but I brought food, you haven't eaten in hours."

"Thanks Cas" the brothers say, but Sherlock pays very little attention to that mundane exchange, because the second man is John.

John is tense, rigid, and yes, this is no time for sentimentality.  
Direct questions. "John, how long was I out?"

John stares at him. "Almost two years."

"Any clue how I'm back?"

"None"

And that's it then, the big reunion, because there seems to be too much to say and it's -

The Doctor gestures broadly. "This is the TARDIS. It's bigger on the inside."

Harry shrugs. "So's Hermione's handbag."

"Okay, but I can travel through time and space."

"A glorified time turner. Space, on the other hand-"

"DO YOU HAVE A ROCKET SHIP POTTER?" Draco appears suddenly, eyes wild.

"Dammit Draco!"

Dean nearly shoots the kid, reflex. He puts his gun away again, uneasy.

Sam gets Sherlock in the heart with a stake, adm he doesn't react much.  
"Was that truly necessary?"

Dean exchanges a look with Sam. They back away a little.

"Yeah so someone must've cut a deal with a demon and a reaper or something. That's what's bringing the dead back." Sam summarised.

"No, they're Inferi, or someone's got the resurrection stone working-" Hermione corrected.

"Maybe someone with a time machine grabbed them the moment before they died and brought them here?"

Everyone looks at the Doctor.

"Oh, so time travel is a ridiculous possibility? I literally have a time machine and it's still not a feasible option?"

Sam shrugs and scrawls down time travel.

Gunshot in the background. Sherlock has tried to kill himself again.

"You mean Lucifer as in Satan, the devil, Beelzebub himself?"

"Yeah, he wants to get in your pants. Well, your meat suit to be more specific, but I'd say you deduced that all by yourself."

"Mr Holmes, it was a pleasure, I am so sorry."

"Oh Doctor, I'm not the first you've lost and I won't be the last. Safe travels."

They shake hands, and the Doctor leaves, the sound of the TARDIS filing the silence.

"Well Sherly, it's been fun, but we gotta go. You're a shoo-in for upstairs though, don't sweat it."

"Goodbye Dean."

Dean nods and gets into the Impala. Sherlock turns to Sam and says,

"Sam Winchester, it's been an honour. Please do keep researching, you're rather good at it."

Sam smiles sadly, and hands the Colt to John.

"So, we'll meet you in Arby's after John, to get that back. And um, if you need anything after, you know, you just call okay? We'll be there."

John looks at Sam and nods. He doesn't seem to be able to say anything.  
Sam accepts that that's all he's going to get, and gets into the passenger seat. Him and Dean drive back into town. God knows how far away the Doctor is.

It's just him and Sherlock, who smiles.

John finally speaks.  
"You look like him, you think like him, but you're not. You're not the same man, and this- this has to be done."

Sherlock keeps smiling.  
"I understand John. Goodbye."

John fires the Colt and it marks Sherlock right between the eyes and blows the back of his head off.  
The body doesn't disappear into black smoke or shatter. It falls slowly like any real human body, and when it hits the sand the thump is real.  
Dark red blood slowly seeps into the ground. This time he is truly dead.

John begins to walk into town. His hands don't shake.


End file.
